(Photo credit to rian)
Christmas, 1993. That last Holiday before I nearly succeeded in ending my life was the worst of my life. I have to remember that because as my Holiday melancholy has set in this year, I need to remember how grateful I must be right now.
I’d lost just about everything—the most important of which was hope. I’d pawned everything worth anything for drug money, maxed out my credit with all my friends and dealers, and now spent my days and nights drifting aimlessly around the city, wondering what the fuck to do.
Suicide was a constant thought. The pain of life had driven me to want to end it. At that point, I hadn’t been in touch with my family for years—they’d lost hope and had changed all their phone numbers. They’d had enough of my bullshit.
I spent Christmas Eve riding the city busses all night. In a rare moment of clarity, wondered how the hell my life had ended up in such a state. What happened to the dreams of becoming a great actor? Or writer? Those dreams were stardust at that point. My only dream was having a home in Cleveland, Ohio’s freezing December winter.
I slipped into a deep depression recently, which is why I’ve been more quiet than usual. But then I remembered that last horrible Christmas—one I’m lucky to have survived—and I know how much gratitude I have for all that I have received once I opened my heart to a different way of life.
I know many are suffering during these Holidays. I hear you. I’ve been there—and recently. But don’t lose hope. Always treasure even a little spark of hope because I know as well as anyone that when there is life, there is hope.
Peace to all,